


Get Your Motor Runnin'

by PepperF



Series: Islands In The Stream [3]
Category: MacGyver (TV), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why do these things always happen to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Your Motor Runnin'

Mac wasn't entirely sure how they'd ended up in this position. Or, no, that wasn't exactly right – he could remember the 'how'; it was the 'why' that had him puzzled.

Not that he was complaining.

All he'd done was introduce Sam to his old Harley...

\---

Mac had just made an important discovery: the second way to turn Sam Carter into a morning snuggler.

He liked snuggling, when he was with someone. On his own, he tended to get straight out of bed and start the day – but when he was all tangled up with someone warm and nice-smelling, well, why would he want to get out of bed? Sam, though, was usually only like that for the first morning. After that, it was back to business as usual – straight up, off out. He loved that about her, of course – loved her drive and her energy, loved spending time with her in any way, horizontal or otherwise... but he was still pretty pleased to have found the key to keeping her in bed.

Talk motorbikes.

He'd mentioned in passing that he'd seen a beautiful Norton just yesterday, thinking she might be interested – and she'd jumped on the subject. She'd told him all about her Indian, and had seemed quite content to stay put and draw the answers to his questions in the air, with her free hand. He'd only just told her – heck, he'd only just remembered – about the bike tucked away in his lockup. She'd seemed less than impressed that it was a Harley.

"It's a Sportster, 1000cc."

"Oh, Sportster, though," she approved, snuggling closer. "I like those. What year?"

"'79. You wanna go take a look at it?"

Unfortunately, she did. Straight away. But at least he'd gotten twenty extra minutes of snuggling.

When it became apparent that she really couldn't be persuaded to stay put, he pulled on the jeans he kept for greasemonkeying around, and took her down there. They walked the few blocks, agreeing to stop in at Mrs Hämäläinen's diner on the way back for one of her gloriously solid Finnish pancakes. He felt a little nervous as he pulled off the tarp – whether for himself or his bike, he wasn't quite sure – but she grinned, delighted. "Very nice!"

He gave her a brief tour and answered her questions on its background, falling into reminiscences of when he'd first bought it – as a favor for a friend who needed a more baby-friendly vehicle but didn't want his first love to fall into "the wrong hands" – and the work he'd done on it, over the years. Then he left her to it, because the other boxes in the lockup were calling out to his curiosity. He opened the nearest, and grinned. "Hey." His old jacket – damn, had he really thought the chain thing looked cool? He was pleased to find that it still fitted, though, and even more pleased to find his missing Aviators in the pocket.

Sam looked at him over her shoulder, and smiled, patting the bike's seat. "Wanna take me for a ride?"

So he smirked, looking forward to getting her back to his place again after a (hopefully) brief outing, and slung a leg over the bike, meaning to ask her to grab the helmets—

—and she jumped him.

\---

Movement was severely limited in this position, especially given that she'd not even waited for him to get his jeans off, and the zipper was dangerously close to a place neither of them wanted to get scratched up. But, god, he didn't care. He could happily stay here forever – or at least until they were both satisfied (which, if she kept _clenching_ like that, would be in about thirty seconds, for him). "Nngh," he said, into her chest. Her T-shirt was hiked up under her armpits, and her bra was tiny and black and a beautiful contrast with her pale skin and oh dear god...

"Oh," she agreed, rolling her hips forward. "God. Yes."

He sank his hands into her hair, tilting her head back so he could nip desperately at her collarbone. Geez, she was flexible: even when he was still keeping up the yoga he wouldn't have been able to do what she was doing right now. He whimpered slightly, deep in his throat, and tried to think calming thoughts. Think of their surroundings – a dusty, slightly chilly lockup, cobwebs in the corners and oil stains on the floor, racks of old tools and boxes of forgotten junk. Mustn't let the bike fall over, it'd crush their legs – well, his leg, because hers were wrapped around his back and – oh, _god_. " _Sam_."

"Mac!"

He could feel it start, for her – feel the increased urgency in her tiny movements, in her gasps and the heat of her body, surrounding him – and all he could do was follow helplessly, all thought of bikes and balancing and cobwebs forgotten as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pulled her down, hard, against him, groaning her name into her neck and squeezing his eyes shut so hard he could see stars, while she shook apart in his arms.

He came back to the sound of her low laughter, right by his ear. She was wrapped tightly around him, warm and wet – maybe they wouldn't stop by Mrs Hämäläinen's diner on the way back, after all – and by some miracle the bike was still upright. "Thank heaven for kickstands," he said, when he could produce words once again.

She chuckled. "Yeah," she sighed, pattering her fingers against his back. She hummed – content, it seemed, to stay right there for the time being. Sex, he'd found out quite a while ago, was his first and favorite way to turn her into a snuggler.

He smiled, rather pleased to find that he wasn't too old for this sort of thing, after all. And then an idea popped into his head – a very, very clever idea... "You know, I also have this classic car," he said, feeling very clever. "'57 Chevy Nomad, used to belong to my grandfather..."

\---

END.


End file.
